


John’s Nightmare

by orphan_account



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Fluff, John has a nightmare, John is Romantic, M/M, Smut, i don’t believe it but i had to write it down, i wrote this because it’s november 9th, paul is comforting, paul is dead reference??, paul is not used to it but he loves it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2021-01-26 05:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21369049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Paul wakes up to John breaking into his house with a graphic story.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Kudos: 68





	John’s Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> i don’t believe in “paul is dead” & if he is dead then faul’s kind of cute 😔

_— November 9th, 1966_

Paul jolted.

Another thump transpired against the wall, furniture, or any other object in his holiday home. For a mere second, he looked over towards Jane curled up on her side facing away from him. Paul steadily blinked, congregating his senses the best he could as he rubbed his eyes exhaustedly with the back of his hand.

The next thump was louder, a familiar grunt trailed along with the awkward silence. Paul sprung out of bed, careful not to wake Jane and whisked the thick covers off of his lower body.

It wouldn’t be the first instance where someone broke into his home. Whether it be a fan, or a regular stranger, or just a poor old lad from the press trying to capture pictures of Paul in the most low-down way he could. A cup of tea, most likely a gingerly prepared mug of PG tips. Then Paul would ask, so very politely of his or hers protocol, and what they’d be doing here while the young man was asleep in his bedroom with his girlfriend. — If they were hostile, Paul would take a more riskier approach and try to get into careful physical contact with the stranger.

Paul slowly crept towards his bedroom door, shivering from the cool floor beneath his bare feet. Twisting the knob, he opened the door carefully and swallowed down any uncertainty about what awaited him. Afterwards, he closed the door just as quietlyand softly padded down his hallway that leads to the living room, on his way there he flicked on a lamp to let the stranger know that someone was awake.

Paul peeked his head in, eyes glancing around observantly for a moment. After a few seconds, confidence was accumulating and he ventured into the living room. “Hello?”

It was silent for a few seconds, until heavy footsteps and a exhausted exhale caused the young man to jump in fright. Paul whisked his body towards the direction of the noise, witnessing a figure slowly rise from the floor behind the couch. Paul froze, and watched in silence as the figure seemed to stretch for a bit.

“Macca?”

‘Oh thank God,’ Paul inwardly relaxed, and felt a wave of relief wash over his body. “John what are you doing here?”

John swayed, and swallowed down a burp as he tried to walk from behind the couch. John paused for a few seconds, and began to slur out loudly. “Couldn’t visit my boyfriend now?”

Paul immediately shushed him, aware that John was slurring and he most likely was shit-faced. John tilted his head at Paul, staring at him deadpanned for a few seconds before attempting to walk which made him collide against the wall. “Ah shit,”

So many questions — Paul thought to himself as he rushed towards his boyfriend, helping the man stay up on his feet. John’s body was trembling in his arms, and his face was flushed along with the color of his eyes — they had seemed wet, a bit red as if he was sobbing his head off a couple of minutes ago. This wasn’t the first time he ran into a drunken John, they both had their fair share of drunk experiences with each other - but it was not usual for the other person to wander off all the way to the other side of town to see his boyfriend in the middle of the night.

‘Cynthia must have been asleep, or maybe she does know that John’s been out.’ Paul thought to himself, it wouldn’t make a difference anyways because John would have gone out nonetheless.

As the two slugged into the guest room, which stretched all the way across the home. Paul helped John into the bed, and watched as the older man slump pathetically with his head down along with his hands in his lap.

Paul knelt down, and tried to get a peak of John’s face which was no use because the other man stubbornly twisted his body to face the other way.

“John come on, let me see you.”

John shook his head, mumbling something incoherent under his breath. Paul sighed, sitting firmly on the floor, Indian style. He had reckoned John to be more cooperative, all the other times he was drunk he was more than cooperative with him. Something clearly must have happened.

The only time where he was understandably uncooperative was when Julia died, not long after that the man was no longer the same and he drunk his heart out for the past six weeks afterwards. Paul shifted, feeling uncomfortable in only his pajamas with no briefs on due to — other reasons — but he sat still until John could find the right words.

John was just sitting there; the mumbling ceased and his body still. For a minute Paul thought he was dead and he was close to pinching John’s skin.

John suddenly threw his head back, and stared hopelessly at the ceiling. Paul looked up at him, slightly startled by the sudden movement and from the fact that John could have snapped his bloody neck. John exhaled, and then clear as summer’s day he said. “You died.”

The world had seemed to stop orbiting, and Paul was taken back for a brief second. “What? What do you mean?”

John’s lips quivered, and Paul suddenly felt the urge to comfort him as soon as he could. There was a number of times John cried in front of Paul, but most of them were rare — when Julian was born and he held him for the first time there were tears. When Julia died there were tears. In Paris, after a several years of pining for each other when they first made love, and professed their love for each other — there were tears on both ends. First number one — there were tears of relief, joy and fear of whatever came for their future. Shea stadium, Ed Sullivan, — all four of the boys were in tears, even Brian. But John is about to bawl because Paul died?

After a lingering silence, John spat out in a fragile voice. “Had a bloody nightmare alright? It fucked me up, it did.”

“I don’t understand, was it the nightmare that made you drink and come over?” Paul asked, and sat straight upwards, looking up confused into John’s eyes.

Paul was so painfully adorable without even trying.

John gritted his teeth, and more self frustration plagued his body that Paul would one day leave this earth — this beautiful, _beautiful_ human being in front of him.

Paul took this as John being annoyed with him, and blushed in embarrassment, self loathing himself at the moment for his lack of understanding. Paul darted his eyes away from John’s gaze and cleared his throat. “Can you elaborate on the nightmare? I’m just confused that’s all.”

John’s face softened, noticing his younger boyfriend was obviously uncomfortable with John’s mood. “I need to hold you though, it’s too graphic for me to get a swing at it without crying.”

Paul climbed elegantly into the bed like the cat he is — another reason why John loved him. Paul was stealthy, and he moved so smoothly like a cat would walk. His footsteps are soft, and when he sleeps it actually sounds like he’s purring. John thought if he had a tail then he’d fit the whole category. Paul wrapped his arms around John and pulled him closer, which made John turn his body over on top of Paul to have both of them knocked down against the bed.

John hovered over Paul, then used his arm and hand as leverage to hold himself up. Paul smiled softly, silently caressing John’s cheek as the older simply stared at him for a few minutes. “We was fighting,” John began, nuzzling his cheek against Paul’s palm. “God it was such a stupid fight, what song goes on the new album we’re making, how fast it should go, how slow it should go. What part needed to be filled in all of that.”

Paul silently listened, taking John’s other hand and comforting him by kissing each pad of his fingertips.

“I said some bad things to you Paul. I didn’t want to though, but- it just came out and you looked so upset. The last time I saw you, I made you upset, angry, and sad.” John’s voice started to tremor, and tears began to formulate against the brim of his brown eyes. Paul kissed John’s hand, softly brushing his fingers against the tender skin of John’s hand.

“It’s alright dear.”

“No Paul, it’s not, I say shit to push you off the edge. I say it to hear myself talk, to satisfy my pain from making you feel in pain. You know I do.”

Paul nodded, and looked up at John through his eyelashes. The older man’s body went rigid with appreciation at how natural Paul’s beauty is. Paul winged his arm around John’s backside, “I do the same to you don’t I? When we argue I try to say something to push you on, so you could push me on. We both do that love. Not saying it’s good, but you don’t need to beat yourself up about it because I do too.”

John leaned down and kissed him, he needed to feel his lips against his. Paul was his Tylenol to a headache, his aspirin, his drug in human form. Paul kissed back, with just as much appreciation for the apparently cold hearted- and rude- John Lennon.

Later on after a few more seconds of Paul trying to get John comfortable, in the most desperate way he could. John continued, “You ran out, I figured you was going to get a smoke or something, George and Ringo tried to stop you but I already pressured you into leaving. It was too late.”

Paul closed his eyes, not sleeping, but vividly imagining the details of John’s nightmare. John understood, every time someone told a story Paul would close his eyes to picture it.

“You was gone for hours, it was raining and I felt so bad. I went out to look for you. Then there was smoke.” John felt himself choke up, remembering the scene where he had flashbacks of all night at the bar which made him get a cab to Paul’s. “Your car. Fuck it was so bad Paul, it- it wasn’t even a car anymore, it looked like a bloody beer can all crushed up against a tree.”

Paul let out a simple hum, tightening his grip around John to pull him much more closer than they could possibly be.

“God Paul, then I saw you. You looked so _small_..so helpless, all bloody and screaming for help. I tried to help you Paul, I tried to get you out of there but I- I couldn’t. You wouldn’t move. Then the car was hot to the touch, I tried to move it off of you but there was a fire. Your clothes was caught up in it, and I literally watched your skin peel off as the fire went up to your body.” John was rambling, body shaking violently and tears streaking his cheeks. “You kept screaming, and your skeleton started to appear, there was nothing I could do - the rain wasn’t helping either.”

“My God.” Paul strangled out, feeling nauseous as his eyes popped open.

“I’m sorry.” John sniffed, which made Paul immediately wipe the tears away from his cheeks and eyes.

Paul coughed, and tried to mentally gather himself after such a graphic image of himself burning alive in a car crash. With John literally watching. “No you’re alright son.”

“I woke up, and threw up everything I ate.” John presumed, as he soon gathered himself. “Told Cynthia that I had a rough dream about the Jesus freaks, she’d understand.”

Paul nodded, remembering that they boys were still under pressure from the entire country of America for John’s statement.

“So I called a cab, went to the bar and tried to drink it down but nothing was working. I couldn’t get you out of my head, so I walked all the way here.”

“You walked?” Paul gawked, immediately turning into a mother hen. “John! You can’t just walk alone in the middle of the night!” Paul silently cursed himself, noting that Jane was asleep a few doors down.

“But I did.” John bluntly said, twisting a strand of Paul’s hair up against his finger to temporarily curl it.

Paul sighed, and looked at John for once in his life he didn’t know how to argue with that. “Do you want me to drive you home or do you want to stay here?”

“Stay here. I need to hear you breathing, and feel you next to me.”

Paul blushed, and squirmed a bit as John leaned into kiss at each part of his face, and neck. He wasn’t really used to a vulnerable John pouring so much love over him. John could be romantic whenever he wanted to be, but it was unfortunately rare.

“I love you so much.” John mumbled against his skin, wrapping his arms around Paul’s body and holding him close.

“I love you more.”

“Not more than I love you Paul.”

Paul smiled, “Want to bet?”

John sucked innocently on Paul’s neck, which caused gentle sighs to leave his boyfriend’s lips. He wasn’t in the mood to shag Paul onto the bed, but he did want to give him pleasure just if this would be the last time he could ever witness Paul enveloped in pleasure.

“John,” Paul softly gasped, trying not to moan as John ran his tongue amongst the soft spot of his neck which was also his sensitive part. “John wait, Jane’s going to hear.”

John pulled away, “She can take notes on how to pleasure someone.” John said, moving his body downwards to catch the waistline of Paul’s pajama pants in his grasp. Paul pleasantly shivered at the cool air hitting his skin as John pulled his pants down to his ankles.

The way John’s breath coated the most sensitive part of his body, his awakening cock began to perk up in interest at the sudden intrusion. Paul bit his bottom lip as John nestled his face in the crease of Paul’s genitals and his inner thighs, afterwards he took in a long inhale of Paul’s scent relishing in his presence. John had then swiped his tongue against the base of Paul’s cock, running a stripe up his shaft that earned him a soft yelp of surprise.

Paul knew what John was doing. Whenever it came to John getting close to losing Paul, in any type of form like a break up, an argument or one of them getting seriously injured or ill — John would gift him one of the best orgasms in his life with that perfect mouth of his.

Paul twisted his fingers into John’s hair, and bucked his hips down so John could take in more of him. Paul’s breath hitched into a fine degree of falsetto as the older casted wicked spells with his tongue, and how he hollowed his cheeks around Paul. “Oh fuck John,” Paul gasped, grasping the sheets and twisting them.

At this point Jane may already be packing her bags, going off to tell the world about how John Lennon was sucking off Paul Mccartney in their shared home. The thought of it just made the experience more enticing, more dangerous — if anything, all of the above.

John massaged Paul’s thighs, running his hands up the younger’s skin tracking each dip, curve, each scar or markings. Paul was perfect. John moved his hands up Paul’s hipbones, and held on tightly to his waist as he noted that was moving his hips in and out of John’s mouth in a slow rhythm. Although he held onto his hips, he allowed the man to continue doing it — relishing in the moans Paul produced above him. John was in love with how smoothly Paul moved, it was as if he was belly dancing. The way his hips rocked up and down in a slow pace, edging himself, not being to harsh by jerking his hips up in John’s mouth. 

John closed his eyes, moaning as the taste of Paul against his mouth evolved by each movement of the younger’s hips. The velvet feeling of his shaft against his warm tongue, the way he tasted the precum seeping out of Paul onto the tip of his tongue. All this arguing with Paul lately, the tensions of them not touring again is unnecessary, especially since their lives almost came to a tragic close too many times.

Paul’s breath hitched, and he was calling out John’s name as his muscles tightened. His brain was fogging up deliciously, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head as his hips began to snap up desperately.

John opened his eyes, staring deviously at Paul through his eyelashes as he began to devour him whole. He hummed right away, attempting to not gag and ruin Paul’s achievement to an orgasm.

One suck, two sucks, three sucks, four. Paul felt as if he was in front of heaven’s door, unfolding into John’s mouth and releasing himself with a broken gasp.

John had then pulled away, lapping at the strings of saliva and cum still attaching his mouth and Paul’s slowly-flaccid cock. He had then licked his glistening thin lips, and rested his head against the crook of Paul’s neck. Paul’s breathy sighs were still quick, and recovering as his eyes opened and closed lazily.

“Alright?”

“Mhm,” Paul hummed, wrapping his arms around John and snuggling closer to his body heat.

“I love you Paul, don’t you ever forget that.”

Paul was already half asleep, the intense climax giving him nothing but fatigue and relaxation. “I love you more Johnny.”

John twisted around so that he was on his back, wrapping an arm around Paul’s waist as he stared up silently at the ceiling. He was too buzzed to sleep, and too afraid in case his nightmare would catch up to him. So he laid there, until sun rose and until he heard the gentle voice of Jane call out Paul’s name.

•••


End file.
